


I want to exorcise the demons from your past

by AndThenHeGotKnockedUp



Series: Undisclosed Desire [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alpha Gil Arroyo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Malcolm Bright, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Feels, Getting Together, Gil's not a jerk he's just dealing with his own emotional fallout, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Malcolm Bright Whump, Male omegas are kind of rare, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Omega Malcolm Bright, Requited Unrequited Love, Whump, post dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndThenHeGotKnockedUp/pseuds/AndThenHeGotKnockedUp
Summary: When Gil distances himself from Malcolm after his drug-induced rut, Malcolm is left to try and keep himself together despite the intense rejection he feels.It becomes easier when he realizes he has something new to live for.(Eventual happy ending for our two boys guaranteed!)
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Series: Undisclosed Desire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643782
Comments: 75
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are going to be plenty of references to the nature of Gil's rut from the first fic, so if Undisclosed Desire was uncomfortable and/or triggering for you, I highly suggest not reading the sequel. Please take care of yourselves!

Everything aches. Malcolm groans as he wakes up, shifting his tired limbs. He tries to blink away the remnants of his sleep.

The room around him is a bland beige. _Something_ isn’t right. He doesn’t know where he is, not immediately, and that’s enough to shake him awake the rest of the way. There’s an IV in his hand, medical tape holding it in place. His clothes feel odd and baggy. When he turns his head, he catches sight of his mother and sister curled up in two chairs by the window. There’s something, some _one_ missing. He shuts his eyes and tries to breathe. 

He’s in a hospital, of course. His memories reorient themselves then. He remembers going undercover at the bar, chasing the criminal down.

Helping Gil with his drug-induced rut. 

Malcolm bites his lip. It’s Gil. Gil is the one he’s missing, the reason why his chest aches just as much as the rest of his body. There’s no claim mark on his neck, and the alpha he shared a rut with is nowhere to be seen or smelled. He’s suffering from rejection.

( _What did I do wrong?_ )

“Oh Malcolm,” his mother murmurs as she brushes his hair out of his face. Her eyes are tired, her face creased from how it was pressed to her jacket in her sleep, her scent warm and comforting.

His own scent must have soured to wake her so quickly. He leans into her touch. It won’t ease the pain much, but he imagines there will always be a part of him that craves comfort from his omega mother. Even though comfort isn’t _exactly_ Jessica Whitly’s specialty, she’s trying extra hard right now, and that’s enough. 

An alpha parent would make him feel safe, too. Safe and protected and _avenged_. Malcolm shudders and makes a note not to go back to Claremont until he no longer smells like Gil.

“That’s _it_. I’m calling the doctor.”

Malcolm’s gaze snaps up to her. He shakes his head and clears his raw throat. “I’m not in pain.”

Her eyes narrow. “Malcolm —”

“Not physical pain,” he clarifies. It’s not strictly true. His body feels like one big bruise. Speaking stings something fierce, and he has to hold back a wince remembering the screams. None of it, however, is enough to warrant calling a doctor or nurse in. He’d rather not be poked and prodded right now. 

His mother’s face crumples. She raises her free hand to skim the building tears off of her eyelashes. “I’ll ruin him,” she says wetly. “If that — that alpha even bothers to show his face here after what he did to you, I _swear_ —”

As soon as he realizes that she’s talking about Gil of all people, he rears back away from her touch in shock. “ _What?_ No, mother.” Gil didn’t do a thing. If their murderer hadn’t dosed him, Malcolm wouldn’t have had to help him with his rut. He wouldn’t be here in the hospital. His heart wouldn’t be so low. “I knew what I was doing. I chose to help him. Hell, he tried to get me to leave.”

“Why —” But she cuts herself off.

_Why didn’t you?_

They both know the answer to that. It’s not a secret that he cares about Gil. The depth of his feelings is another matter, though he’s sure she knows about that, too. He wasn’t always so good at hiding it. Especially not from another omega, from his mother. 

Malcolm gives her a weak smile. 

She looks like she wants to argue, and if they weren’t at the hospital, him hooked up to an IV and covered in bandages, she might have. Instead, she pulls her chair closer so that she can sit right at his bedside. The metal legs scrape against the floor a little.

In the other chair, Ainsley shifts, her brows creasing at the sound. She yawns and blinks at them tiredly. “Bro,” she says, startled, nearly falling out of her seat to get to her feet. “Mom, you said you’d wake me!”

“It hasn’t been very long at all, dear.” Their mother gracefully sits in her chair, which opens up room for Ainsley to come up close to him. 

Malcolm fakes his smile this time. He knows that Ainsley is more perceptive than most think she is, but he hopes that a lifetime of trying to hide the depth of his depression from her will give him the advantage today. It’s bad enough that their mother will likely bring up their conversation again at some later point — the last thing he needs is his alpha sister out to rip into Gil, too. He’s grateful for their combined presence, of course. Their omega and alpha familial scents are doing a wonderful job of keeping him from getting too jittery. 

And yet, all he really wants to do is limp back to his loft to nest and lick his wounds. Alone. 

“I’ll be fine, Ains.” When she reaches for his hand, he grasps hers. “The man at fault is in custody, okay?”

Thankfully, she seems a little more inclined to agree with him than their mother. There’s still a chance she’s not happy with Gil, though, and so he clears his throat, eyes drifting between the two most important women in his life. “I know it might be difficult, but I’m asking you not to do anything against Gil.” He waits for them to promise before relaxing back into the pillows. It’s been mere minutes, but he already feels drained. 

## The Next Day

The hospital releases him that afternoon. The doctor doesn’t want him to leave, doesn’t think he’s ready, but Malcolm knows he wouldn’t be able to stay another night. He only stayed the first at his mother’s insistence. It helped that she and Ainsley refused to leave his bedside. Initially, he tried to sleep. The two women woke him up whenever the nightmares started. The on-call nurses came running in whenever they couldn’t get through to him before the shouts started, and none of them looked happy to smell his potent distress. There was talk of sedating him through the night.

At that, Malcolm gave up and stayed awake. His mother and Ainsley gave a valiant effort at joining him, but eventually the stress and worry caught up with them, leaving him to watch over them the way they’d watched over him. It was… relaxing to be flanked by the two of them, even asleep. He was surrounded by pack, and that was enough to distract him for a while. 

It’s an even bigger relief to be home. He insisted on healing at the loft rather than his childhood home. He takes the steps slowly, one at a time with his mother in front of him and his sister behind him. 

Sunshine chirps a greeting as soon as the door opens. Her wings flutter. She happily hops out onto his hand when he opens the door to her cage and lets him coo at her without judgement. 

Behind them, his mother fusses around in the kitchen. There isn’t much in his fridge, although his pantries are slightly better stocked. Not that she knows how to cook. “I’m going to order a food delivery, dear,” she calls out, exasperated. 

He accepts it, if only because he knows he’ll be too sore to cook and too drained not to take care of himself without consequences. He eases himself down onto the couch and lays back with a hiss. Sitting hurts. _Laying_ hurts. He knows he has scrapes and cuts all over his front and back, and the drug-induced rut wasn’t kind on the rest of his body, either. 

(The doctor assured him there were no tears or otherwise bad damage, thankfully, _somehow_.)

Sunshine hops up onto his chest. He pets her with a gentle finger.

Ainsley’s face appears above him as she leans over the back of the couch. Her scent is heavy with sadness. She offers a water bottle, quirking a brow until he takes it. “If you don’t drink enough, you’ll end up in the hospital again, you know.”

It’s true. The doctor said he was pretty dehydrated when he came in. He needs to take care of himself for a little while if he doesn’t want to go right back. He opens the bottle and sips slowly. The cool water both soothes and hurts his raw throat. He winces. “Trust me,” he croaks, “none of us want that.” 

She bites her lip, sympathy tinting her gaze. “Good. Mom’s being gentle now, but she might kill you if you don’t take this seriously.”

_No_ , he thinks. _She’ll kill Gil_. Malcolm takes a second sip. When he doesn’t say another word, Ainsley reaches down to poke his forehead and then leaves him alone with his bird. His eyes slip shut. He’s tired but won’t fall asleep, not yet, not when he knows the nightmares are around the corner. The momentary rest, however, feels good. 

His mother and sister leave him be until the food arrives. Ainsley helps him off the couch while their mother signs off on the delivery, watching the delivery man bring in bags of groceries with a careful eye. Their actual dinner order comes just as he hauls in the last few bags. 

Malcolm puts Sunshine back in her cage and limps over to the kitchen island. “What did you order?” He’s not sure how much he can eat tonight, not with the heavy weight of rejection setting in. 

It’s unlikely Gil will stop by tonight. Malcolm knows that Gil is aware he won’t be alone until late, until he can convince both women that he’s fine by himself, and it’s safer for the alpha to stay away if they’re still around. But seeing him is the _only_ way the weight will lift. 

“Italian,” his mother says, her cheer barely reaching her eyes. “From our favorite restaurant. The owner owed me a favor.”

He knows exactly which place she’s talking about. They used to go there whenever he was home from boarding school, and even though it wasn’t the same as it would have been if the Whitly name hadn’t been razed to the ground, it was a bonding exercise for omega son and omega mother. He’d put on his finest and escort her in. For that meal, they’d ignore the stares. Ainsley joined them a handful of times, but there was something about just the two of them going that gave him such fond feelings for the place.

His mother eyes the stools with a frown, gaze flickering his way, her scent turning acrid. “Let’s eat in the living room. Won’t that be fun?”

Without a word, Malcolm limps back to the couch. Sitting down gingerly helps the sting some. He can hear her rummaging around in his cabinets, probably looking for napkins or towels, but he’s not sure where Ainsley is until the cushion dips beside him and her crisp, flowery scent reaches him. He rolls his head to the side to look at her. 

She swallows. “How are you really feeling, bro?”

Like he just rutted with three territorial alphas. _Without_ breaks. He smiles instead, confident that his scent isn’t giving away how awful he really feels. “Tired. Sore.”

“Malcolm…”

His smile drops. “Give me time, okay Ains?” Time to see Gil again. To talk to him and ease the turmoil building inside him, convince his instincts that he wasn’t rejected. The physical injuries will heal in time; he’s not so concerned about that. He’s more focused on the tingling numbness he’s feeling. Every now and then it’s broken by a pang of loneliness, of dejection.

And that doesn’t even touch what he’ll feel once he processes the fact that he’s outed himself. It isn’t illegal to hide the way he did, not even for a male omega. Frowned upon, yes, but not against the law. The only thing that is, is falsifying his records. As long as he’s legally registered as an omega, he’s okay to present as he wants. He did plenty of research in his teens to figure out what he could and couldn’t do before buying the soaps and scents. The Bureau didn’t care too much. He proved that he could take whatever they threw at him, and it wasn’t unusual for him to run circles around many of his peers when it came to profiling. They still didn’t give him too many of the _truly_ dangerous missions. He’s a rare commodity, even if they looked at his record and decided he wasn’t fit to be bred anyway.

Coming to New York was even better. Gil didn’t discriminate. He already knew about Malcolm’s designation and had no issues bringing him in on cases despite it. The majority of his coworkers wouldn’t exactly agree with it, however, so Malcolm made sure to be extra careful at the precinct. As a consultant not an officer, there was no reason for anyone to see his paperwork. Hiding his status was easier than hiding his feelings, but he managed both. It worked well, too — while it lasted. 

He takes a slow breath in. A slow breath out. There’s nothing he would do differently, if given the chance. Gil’s life would _always_ take priority. 

The other side of the couch dips as their mother joins them. She leans over and drapes a kitchen towel over his lap, fussing with it. Their dinners are still in takeout containers, and his warms his legs through all of the layers between. Ainsley’s is passed over him. 

Malcolm picks at his food, knowing that despite the way his stomach cries out for food now, he can’t eat much of this without getting sick. It’s a light dish, thankfully. There’s no tomato sauce, no heavy meats, just fresh pasta tossed with plenty of vegetables, chicken, and a light amount of seasoned oil. To appease his mother, he makes sure to prioritize the chicken so that he gets some protein in. 

The two women talk around him, not in a mean way, but in such a way as to keep him from drifting too far into his thoughts. They know he won’t participate. That’s not the goal. When they’re both done with their dinners and Malcolm has pushed his aside, they linger long enough to help him change his clothes and slip into bed. 

He doesn’t argue. He’s too tired to. Too sore. As uncomfortable as it is to have his mother help him pull up his boxer briefs, he’s not proud enough to push off the help in his condition. He even willingly takes the pain medication she taps out of his newest prescription bottle.

She almost stays then. The look in her eyes says she wants to. The soft stick of the door closing behind her is regretful, mournful. 

Malcolm lets the medication ease him into sleep, knowing he’ll be awake again in a few hours.

## Two Days Later

His absence on the first day was understandable. The second day Malcolm can wave off, too. If Gil’s smart — and he is — he’ll stay away until he can be sure that his mother isn’t hovering still. Her promise won’t hold for long if they end up in the same room together any time soon. 

But three full days without contact of any kind? That’s… harder to explain away. Malcolm lowers himself onto the couch, a simple cheese sandwich in hand, and forces himself to eat as his heart sinks. His bonding gland started aching the day before. He’s painfully aware of it, of how the light scrape of Gil’s teeth against his skin left nothing there, not even a bruise. If not for his feelings for the alpha, it wouldn’t affect him this strongly. He needs to eat, or he’ll waste away.

Putting the empty plate down on the coffee table, he shifts and curls up on the couch, his face pressed against the leather. He’s taken to leaving a spare blanket folded over the back of it, and he pulls it around himself now. A pitiful whine escapes him. The soft material smells like him and _only_ him. There’s no hint of alpha, of Gil, trapped in the fibers. 

He’s not sure how long he lies there, just that he doesn’t fall asleep. His stomach growls. His limbs feel stiff. Sunshine is chirping across the room. With a groan, Malcolm stumbles to his feet and checks her water bowl. He pets her through the bars. His leftovers from the other night are calling his name from the fridge. Although he’s mostly picked them clean of protein, there’s still a good amount of pasta and vegetables in the container yet, and he opens his cheese drawer to crumble some feta in the mix. He doesn’t bother to heat it up. Standing in the kitchen eating it cold takes up enough of his energy already.

His phone stares up at him from the island. Periodically, he’ll look at the messages and answer his mother’s to stop her from making the trip over. He hasn’t tried calling Gil yet. He hoped the alpha would contact him first.

The container of food sits on the counter with a soft tap. Malcolm unlocks the screen, clicks on Gil’s name, and bites his lip. 

_I miss you._

_Why?_

_Why haven’t you visited? Why didn’t you bite me? Why haven’t you even called?_

His thumbs hover over the screen until it goes black. Finally, he puts it down in favor of his fork. 

He eats the last scraps of his meal, drinks a glass of water, and fills Sunshine’s food bowl. 

An hour later, he finds the words. 

_Are you okay?_

There’s no immediate answer. Malcolm takes a deep breath, putting the phone back down. It’s not late, but that doesn’t mean that Gil isn’t still at work or already asleep. Maybe they got a case right after they wrapped up the last one. Maybe he’s been too busy. 

He lets Sunshine out and sits back down on the couch, draping the blanket over his shoulders. She perches on his hand. He gives her a watery smile. 

~

Gil doesn’t text before he goes to bed. Malcolm’s message sits there unanswered, unaccompanied, unacknowledged. 

The omega himself lies in bed in a similar state. Although his eyes drift shut, sleep doesn’t come at all, his mind whirling as the perceived rejection curdles and twists in his gut. He certainly doesn’t need to sleep to fall into the nightmares. He pulls his blanket taut around himself and curls into a ball. The bed smells like home and nest, yes, but it’s beginning to reek of pain, too. 

There’s no point in doing the laundry. All of it will pick up the stench of misery again soon enough.

~

Hours later, his mother kicks off her heels and crawls into bed to wrap her arms around him, holding him close, petting his hair as his bone dry eyes sting with tears his body can’t shed. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” she murmurs over and over again.

His phone sits on the nightstand.

There are no messages from Gil.


	2. Chapter 2

## One Week Later

He licks his dry, cracked lips but doesn’t move otherwise. 

The beam of headlights flickers across the wall through the window. 

Anyone else would be asleep in his position. Malcolm, however, has double as many reasons not to want to succumb as he did a month before. The nightmares still plague him. Phantoms of his father’s influence work their way through his mind as soon as his eyes slip shut, only fading when his screams ring out in the empty loft. He dreams of what could have been and what almost was. 

But there are new dreams, too. Dreams that leave him gasping and shuddering and _wet_. Dreams about Gil, his vague memories of the alpha’s rut mixing with fantasies, all of it tinged with the hint of Gil’s scent Malcolm doubts he’ll ever forget. It’s been burned into his head through years of exposure. These dreams are why he refuses to sleep. 

His body, still healing and already taxed, doesn’t comply. 

His eyelids twitch closed and his mouth falls slack.

The bed dips beside him, drawing his bleary gaze. Gil’s smug look is the first thing he sees. “Did I wear you out? Say the word, and we’ll stop, city boy.”

Malcolm shakes his head. As if he could _ever_ be too tired for the alpha in front of him. He stretches out with a yawn and tucks his knees up to his chest, grateful that his flexibility makes the position comfortable for long periods of time. “You know I’m too stubborn for that.” His hole is slick and needy. He bites his lip until it hurts.

Blunt teeth stop just short of breaking the skin, if only because Gil slots himself against Malcolm’s back and angles him into an over the shoulder kiss. The alpha’s cock is hard against his ass, the swollen tip smearing precome against the taut curve of his cheek. A simple shift, a guiding hand — and he’d fill the omega perfectly.

The memory of just how thick he was the last time they did this is enough to send a shudder through Malcolm’s body. He groans into Gil’s mouth, his hips rolling back, desperate for friction. 

Gil pulls him closer and grinds against heated skin. He wraps a hand around his swollen length then, rubbing the tip through the slick that’s pooling between the omega’s cheeks. 

“Don’t tease me tonight,” Malcolm demands. He lets Gil capture his lips again. “ _Please_.”

The alpha lines himself up with his omega’s greedy hole. With the slightest amount of pressure, his body opens up, taking in the head with ease. “You’re beautiful when I tease you,” Gil murmurs across his ear. His cock sinks in slow and unrelentingly despite his words, only stopping when he’s flush against Malcolm’s ass. 

It’s more than enough to make the omega groan. There’s something so wonderful about being full of Gil, and a not so small part of him is convinced that that alone would satisfy him. He lets the rocking of the alpha’s hips jostle him, the slick back and forth of the cock in his ass scratching every itch he did and didn’t know he had. 

Gil snakes a hand around him to fist his weeping length. The warm calloused grip edges him over with a sigh. Satisfied that _Malcolm_ is satisfied, Gil eases him onto his stomach, readjusting their positions and reseating himself, the hand that was on the omega shifting to the back of his neck. 

Malcolm’s breath hitches as the pressure increases. In contrast to the relaxed pace from before, Gil starts fucking into him like he can’t stand another moment of not being knotted, like Malcolm’s just a means to a pleasurable end. The omega clenches around him, encourages him. He’s feeling wrongfooted at the sudden change, but he doesn’t _dis_ like it.

Not until the bed disappears underneath him, making way to cold concrete. A scream rips through him unbidden as his body reminds him of all the aches and pains he carries. He tries to push himself up, to push himself back into the slick back and forth he’s craving and away from the ground, but he can barely move. The more he tries, the harder it becomes. 

Finally, he collapses. He hits sweat-soaked sheets, eyes flickering open, crusty from crying through the night. He’s tangled in his bedding, and the energy to pull himself out of it is nowhere to be found. The tepid glow of the early morning sun filters through the city landscape and into the loft by way of the window. He can’t have been asleep for too long. It washes over him as he lingers there, waiting for his morning wood to disappear. Part of him wants to get up and take his pain meds. The overwhelming majority doesn’t want to risk moving. 

So he doesn’t. Not until the door opens, the click of his mother’s heels echoing across the loft. She’s never surprised to find him in bed anymore, and he can tell she doesn’t even approach before heading to the kitchen island to pick up his meds, left there by her yesterday and every day since he was discharged. The fridge opens, too, a dull sticky sound as the seal on the door pops. 

“Morning,” he croaks when the mattress dips beside him. 

A soft hand brushes the hair from his face. “Do you want me to run a bath?” In her other hand, she has a plate with two hardboiled eggs and a few chunks of cheese. It’s the same breakfast she’s coaxed him to eat every morning for nearly two weeks now. Nothing too flavorful, or his stomach revolts. Nothing too big either, or he can’t choke it down, not even for her sake.

He shakes his head and shifts into a sitting position, wincing at the dull pain. Although he’s mostly recovered, his newfound habit of spending the day as a lump hasn’t helped his body snap back the way it should. He takes the plate from her. His bites are small and his chewing slow so as not to push the limits of his stomach, but he tries. 

His mother sets the small handful of pills down on the nightstand. “I was thinking,” she says slowly, idly.

He glances up at her, taking a miniscule bite of cheese. She’s been doing a lot of thinking lately. Sometimes she mentions him coming back home until he’s back to himself again. Sometimes she brings up a vacation. Most of the time, he ends up turning her down. 

“It would be good for you to get out a little.”

Okay. That’s not too surprising. He swallows and smiles halfheartedly. “You haven’t made reservations already, have you?”

She huffs. “Not for brunch, dear.” Shifting to face him more directly, she finally gets to the point. “I’ve been looking into investments again. Of course, there are plenty of people trying to get a hand back in the Whitly pie after all of the good press you’ve been getting us.” Her words are flippant, but the pride in her eyes is genuine. “Many of them want to meet you, too.”

The just to say they could is left unsaid. They’re both all too aware of how this works. 

It takes all of his upbringing to keep him from rolling his eyes. “Mother—”

“I’m not asking you to be my prop,” she clarifies, taking his hand. “Malcolm, if you’re willing, I’d like you to use your talents to read them and their intentions.”

He considers it. “You want to let them _think_ I’m a prop.” He supposes it would work as long as he was focused. Eve flits through his mind, but he suppresses the thought. He did suspect her, initially at least. If he goes into these meetings ready to analyze, it should be fine. 

“You’ll be the ace up my sleeve, dear.” She gives him a sly look. “All you’d have to do is come with me, eat good food, and watch.”

The offer is oddly tempting. Deep down, he’s beginning to think that the call he’s waiting for isn’t coming and, in turn, his consultation days are over. His work was one of the few things keeping him relatively sane after being fired. It gave him a purpose, a reason to bother getting out of bed in the morning, something to genuinely look forward to, and losing it was not kind on him. Losing Gil at the same time… Malcolm’s afraid of how that inevitable realization will affect him. Maybe the best move would be to accept her offer, to anchor himself in family once again. 

But he can’t bring himself to give up hope.

His mother sighs, clearly seeing his decision all over his face. “If you change your mind, the offer stands.”

He jerks his head up and down. When he goes back to nibbling on an egg, she stands and makes her way to the kitchen, where she pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. Malcolm finishes his egg before extending a grateful hand. It’s best if he has more food in his stomach for some of his pills, but he does intend on clearing his plate as soon as he takes them. His body has gotten used to eating more, apparently. 

“Anyway,” she says as she attempts to bounce back, “you’re coming back home with me for the day. _That_ is non-negotiable. The loft is depressing.”

Which means she probably plans on sending in a cleaning team. Malcolm mulls it over. Cleaning up the loft won’t do much, really, but part of him is thrilled at the prospect of getting out, surprisingly enough. Maybe it _would_ do him good to get some air. “Sure.” He finishes his last piece of cheese, picking up a crumb of it that fell into his lap and eating that, too. At least he can be assured the crew his mother hires will be the best of the best. He nearly asks for more cheese but decides not to test his stomach.

His response puts another hesitant look on her face, another internal struggle. She wants him to come over and let her have the loft aired out. She _also_ wants him to be himself. They’re not strictly compatible things. In the end, the ability to have her worried eyes on him for the day wins out. She stands, brushing her skirt smooth, and takes his empty plate to the kitchen. “Can you jump in the shower, dear?”

Malcolm gets to his feet and wanders over to the bathroom instead of answering. 

~

Getting out of the loft ends up being a very good idea. Away from the cloud of his depression, he finds himself thinking more clearly. Fresh air doesn’t make it all go away by any means, but the stench of his own low isn’t adding onto the way he feels, allowing him to feel lighter. 

At least temporarily.

His mother takes his hand in the car. He tries to give her a smile. The city cruises by beside them, comfortable surroundings making way for old familiar ones until Adolpho is pulling up in front of the Whitly house. 

“I’ve cleared my schedule for the day,” his mother says as she links their arms together. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll do.” Her expression bleeds into fond exasperation. “Within reason, of course.”

The look on her face if he ever took her to a crime scene is clear as day in his mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep the laughter down. What else could they do… He thinks about curling up in the library or on the couch by one of the TVs or having tea. 

As they cross the threshold, Malcolm realizes there’s only one thing he _really_ wants to do — nest. He wants to lay in his mother’s bed, surrounded by her scent, and build a nest he can feel comfortable in. The impulse to do so hasn’t hit him in years. Probably not since his boarding school days, truthfully. It’s _strong_. He aches to feel safe, protected, and it startles him.

His pause must be noticeable. His mother stops and pats his arm where it’s entwined with hers. “Malcolm?”

He licks his dry lips. “I need to nest.”

To her credit, she barely stills before leading him up to the master bedroom. It’s a familiar sight, one he remembers from when he was young and the nightmares were fresh. The smell, too, is blissfully recognizable. Family, it says. Safety. Love. He’s not sure why it’s affecting him as strongly as it is now, especially when Ainsley and their mother’s presence in his loft the last few weeks hasn’t done the same, but he can’t deny that it is. He barely thinks to kick his shoes off on the way to the bed. 

The bedding, although neatly made, isn’t fresh enough for the light detergent to eclipse his mother’s embedded scent. He’s aware of his mother standing at the doorway watching, confused. Still, he doesn’t let it deter him from untucking the comforter and futzing with the pillows. He rearranges everything. And then again. He lets his similar scent brush against the fibers, making it smell more like family. If only Ainsley were here, too…

Eventually, his nest is perfect. Malcolm melts into it, not relaxed, not fully, but more peaceful than he has been in weeks. His eyes slip shut. 

His mother’s heels thud against the carpet as she moves closer. She hovers by the bed. “Do you need anything?”

He hums and shakes his head. 

~

When sleep finally releases its hold on him, he shifts and takes in the scents around him. His is there, of course, shadowed yet by the hefty depression sitting on his chest. His mother’s is present, too, but there’s also another familiar scent — Ainsley. He opens bleary eyes to find one of her long coats draped over him. The addition of another familial scent grounds him a little more.

He tamps down on a whine for the one that’s still missing. This is the _worst_ time to think about his father again, especially when he’s sure the man would be able to smell Gil on him for a few more weeks yet. He can’t risk Martin getting enraged and protective. Nor, if he’s being honest with himself, can he risk taking comfort in his father’s presence again. 

Malcolm pulls the coat tight around himself. God, he feels so off balance. He stares at the ceiling and just _thinks_. Gil’s absence has messed him up, and he’s all too aware of that, but that can’t be the only thing making him unsteady. Not working has got to be a factor. His career was what kept him going since college, the allure of countering some of his father’s actions giving him the drive that he went without for so many years, and bereft of his consulting, he has no way to follow it now. 

Still, all of that should make him frustrated, maybe depressed, but decidedly not as _odd_ as he feels today. 

Screwing his eyes shut, he focuses on how he feels rather than what’s happened. Hungry is the first thing that comes to mind. Or really, a desire to eat. A desire to take care of himself the way he hasn’t for weeks. He’s never been one to eat his feelings, and he’s aware enough of his faults to know he’s neglectful of himself, so none of it makes sense. Except… Malcolm finally gives in and listens to his omegan instincts.

He can’t hold back the whine that rips through him as the realization hits. He’s _pregnant_. He has to be.

Unlike betas, omegas can tell when they’re carrying nearly as soon as it officially takes. It’s leftover from earlier days, from times when an easy pregnancy was far from guaranteed, from when an omega needed to be aware to protect themselves. Had he not been wading through his own pain, he might have realized once his body did. Gil’s rejection was hard enough before. Now it’s not just a rejection of Malcolm but of their child, too. 

He clutches at the folds of his nest and reminds himself that Gil _doesn’t know_. Even if the alpha visited, he wouldn’t be able to tell for another few months, because Malcolm’s scent won’t shift noticeably until the baby starts to grow bigger, stronger. That, too, is another piece of history. Sometimes it was safer for an omega to not broadcast their condition at first, and that delay probably saved quite a few of them. Lucky for him. At least, he thinks hysterically, his father won’t find out if he has to visit anytime soon. 

A shift in the mattress startles him. He expects to see his mother coming to comfort him.

It’s Ainsley. Kicking off her shoes, she climbs into his nest and tucks herself against him, her head under his chin, their legs getting mixed up. They used to nest like this together, back when they were children. 

He leans into her, silent but for the gasping of his breath. 

“Mom’ll be here,” his sister says into his shirt. “She’s telling the cook to keep dinner warm until you’re ready.”

He nods jerkily. 

“You know you can talk to me, right, Mal?”

“I know,” he croaks. 

Their mother joins them minutes later and eases into the nest behind him without a word, wrapping an arm around him to rest on Ainsley, trying to shield her children the best she can. A light omegan purr starts up in her chest. 

The vibration against his back makes Malcolm tear up. He knows it was rough for her after their father’s arrest… and now he’s about to go through something similar enough. Not even modern sentiment will be in his favor. Male omegas, rare as they are, are rarely single parents if only because of possessive, egotistical alphas. What did he do to be rejected despite his value? How many men did he whore himself out to? Everyone will be judging him and his unmarked neck. And with a rejection sitting in the back of his head, it’ll be even more difficult. His money and family can support him through the judgement, but neither can do much for the way he aches for a man who won’t talk to him, let alone see him.

His mother is humming something soothing against his hair, something he vaguely remembers from when he was a child. Ainsley joins her.

Malcolm licks his cracked lips. “I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be busy with an assignment fic for what might be the rest of the month, so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be. I appreciate your patience!
> 
> And next chapter... Gil will probably make his first sequel appearance.


	3. Chapter 3

His mother doesn’t take it well. Oh, she’s conflicted, because, after all, hasn’t she been bugging them about grandchildren for years? But she never wanted them like _this_. She never wanted anything less than a loving bond for her two children. While Malcolm’s situation isn’t a perfect copy of her own, he knows that seeing him like this reminds her of it. 

He’s been hurt by an alpha and left a single parent because of them. Used and discarded by someone who probably never loved him the way he hoped they had.

The rage she felt whenever she thought about Gil was fading — Malcolm is sure of it — but now the dying fire has been fed again with just two simple words, and only the need to support him through the added pain keeps her from going on the warpath. 

“I don’t have as much pull as I used to,” she says regretfully, slamming back another three fingers of the whiskey he won’t be able to touch for the next several months. She looks at him, flat line of her mouth set with determination. “Just one word, dear, and I’ll wreck him.”

Ainsley stays silent behind him as she rubs his back. As much as he wishes she’d agree with him now, it’s not likely to happen. Not now that he’s healing and rejected and _pregnant_. 

“I don’t want you to,” he insists. It doesn’t matter. She’ll ask again tomorrow, and Ainsley will be ready to help. Both of them are bloodthirsty, all snarls and snapping jaws in the face of his revelation. The only consolation is that they’re on his side. Omega and alpha will protect him and his growing child with everything they have. The problem is that he doesn’t want that, not fully.

“Bro,” his sister says softly.

Malcolm shakes his head. “I love him.” Three words he knows won’t surprise them for all that they’ve never been said. Just letting the syllables pass his lips drains him, and a whine builds up in his chest. He loves his alpha. He wants his alpha. He’s carrying his alpha’s child. 

His alpha doesn’t want _him_. 

Ainsley’s arms wrap around him, gently rocking him as it passes. 

Their mother grinds her teeth and looks away. Maybe she’s thinking about their father. Or maybe she’s just pained by how easily he forgave Gil. 

It wasn’t a dilemma for him. Because, in his mind, there wasn’t anything _to_ forgive. “I want this,” he tells her, voice cracking on _want_. He really does. It’s probably a horrible idea — the son of the Surgeon, a _father?_ — but something in his heart is soothed by the knowledge that he didn’t leave that encounter alone. Gil may not want him, may have decided to cut ties abruptly and forever, and yet, Malcolm will still have a piece of him to love. His entire being revolts at the idea of getting rid of that. 

Jessica sloshes more whiskey into her glass, not even bothering to measure it out this time. She knocks it back, sighs, and unknowingly echoes his new personal mantra. “You’re not alone.” Leaving the glass on the small bar, she walks over to the two of them and adds her arms to the hug. “Don’t forget that.”

Together, she and Ainsley hold him until their scents are undoubtedly rubbed off on him, drenching him in a fresh coat of the comforting aroma of family. It’s not quite as effective as the nest they left upstairs in favor of food, but he basks in it anyway. 

“Now,” his mother says with a wobbly voice, “who’s hungry?” She pulls away from the hug and carefully wipes her tears away without smearing her makeup. “I’m going to go check on the chef.” The clack of her heels echoes as she leaves.

Ainsley pulls him over to a seat at the dining table. Once he sits there, numb and tired, she pulls two of the remaining chairs closer. She joins him, and their thighs brush from the proximity. 

Without a word, Malcolm leans his head on her shoulder. 

“I’m not going to bother asking you if this is really what you want,” she says, blunt. “I’m not going to ask you to move in with me or mom. I know you won’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

But she wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t be. If you agreed, you wouldn’t be you. I love you, bro, and I already love my future niece.”

“Or nephew,” he murmurs. Brushing a hand across his still flat stomach, he spares a thought for their dinner. Knowing about the child he’s carrying makes him actually want to eat for once — despite the lack of hunger he feels in the wake of this revelation. 

“Nah, it’s a girl.”

Malcolm huffs a laugh. “If it’s a boy, you get to be on diaper duty.”

“Deal,” she says immediately, a smile in her voice. “I won’t lose, bro.”

Malcolm gives himself a week to process it. A week to come to terms with the fact that he’s knocked up, unbonded, rejected. 

A week for Gil to contact him. 

There are no calls. None from the man himself, none about work, and none from Dani, JT, or Edrisa. Just a handful of texts from the latter three checking up on him. Admittedly, he hasn’t called them, either, only gave them short answers when he felt up to answering at all. They’ve all taken the time to continue to contact him regardless.

And yet — Malcolm knows they’re busy. He’s seen the news. There have been plenty of cases for Major Crimes in the last weeks, and surely the NYPD didn’t let Gil come back to work right away. JT would have been in charge, being the next in line. The department would have gotten a temporary addition to make up for Gil’s loss, but they wouldn’t be familiar with the way the team worked. JT wouldn’t trust them to cover him. Dani flat-out wouldn’t trust them at all. 

Something in his being insists they’re pack, that they haven’t given up on them even if the top alpha has. That part of him yearns to share the news that they’ll have another packmate soon enough. He knows Edrisa would be ecstatic. JT would be quietly happy for him, passing on a more energetic congratulations from Tally. Dani, well, he’s not sure Dani would understand him keeping the baby after what she saw, but she’d support him the way she has for so long now, and his son or daughter would have an Aunt Dani in their lives, too. 

His phone buzzes.

 _I’m in your area._ It’s Dani. _Need anything?_

Usually, he’d say no. She’ll be expecting him to say no. Malcolm splays a hand across his stomach and hits call before his mind processes the action. 

“Are you okay?” she says with a sense of urgency. 

He can practically see her curls bouncing as she picks up her pace, making a beeline for his loft. “I’m…” _I’m fine._ The lie doesn’t want to slip past his lips. _I’m pregnant_ nearly makes an appearance. _I’m hurt. I’m tired._ His teeth clack together. 

“I’m almost there.”

Malcolm curls up tighter and clutches the phone with white-knuckled fingers. “Okay.” He winces at the way the word creaks out.

“Breathe, Bright,” she says firmly. A curse escapes her. She apologizes to someone in passing, clearly pounding the pavement on her way to him. “You better be at the loft.”

The door’s locked. His legs are numb. The only people who have keys are his mother and sister. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” There’s a slight muffled sound as the phone is jostled on her end. 

His brows furrow. “Dani?”

She mutters a quiet _a-ha_. “You need better locks.” 

And then the stairs creak softly. Malcolm manages to roll over, taking his mess of blankets with him, sandwiching his hand and the phone between the bed and his ear. He catches the subtle scent of beta as it wafts through his door.

Dani locks it behind her. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair askew. Looking at him with a detective’s eye, she frowns and makes her way over to the bed. “You’ve looked better,” she quips. There’s a not so subtle undercurrent of worry in her voice. 

It’s a good thing she’s not another omega or an alpha. She can’t smell the despair in the air.

His lips twitch up into a half-hearted grin. “Felt better, too.”

She takes a small step forward. 

He bites his lip and then shifts over, not bothering to untangle himself from the messy nest he’s made. 

Wordlessly, Dani sits on the edge of the bed, one leg folded underneath her, the other on the floor. She clears her throat. “Gil came back to work a few weeks ago. From mandatory leave.”

Malcolm trains his eyes on the sheet beneath him. “I haven’t heard from him.”

“Hey,” she says, snapping her fingers until she has his attention again, “this has nothing to do with you.” 

He can see how tense her jaw is, how much residual anger lurks in her eyes. He doesn’t say anything. 

“This is all on him. I think he thinks if he ignores it for a while, it never happened. Stupid macho alpha _bullshit_. He’s overworking himself and us.” She brushes her hair behind her ear with an agitated hand.

 _...if he ignores it for a while, it never happened._ Except the proof that it did is growing in his abdomen. Malcolm can’t escape it, doesn’t want to escape his _child_. 

And once Gil knows, he won’t either. That Malcolm knows for certain. The alpha probably won’t want him, but he’s not the kind of man to abandon his child, no matter how they were conceived. 

A horrible, anxious laugh bubbles up in his chest and spills from his lips. 

“Malcolm!”

He opens eyes he hadn’t even realized he squeezed shut, the burn of tears sliding down to the bed, and forces the laughter down until it’s smothered. In front of him, her terrified face is pale, her eyes wide. “I’m pregnant,” he gasps, wheezes like it’s a joke. 

“ _Fuck._ ” She starts to reach out and stops.

Malcolm slips a hand outside of his nest and grasps hers, holding onto her like a lifeline. She’s a beta. She’s not family.

But she _is_ pack. 

Dani squeezes his hand. 

“I asked once, you know,” the beta says later, when they’re on the sofa, him still wrapped in his blanket, Sunshine perched in his hair. “It’s stupid that he’s back and you’re not.”

He looks at her wearily.

“He shot me down.” Not surprising. Gil hasn’t tried to see him, let alone answer any of his messages. Why would he be willing to talk about Malcolm at work? “JT pulled me aside and cautioned me not to ask again anytime soon. Something about _alpha instincts._ ”

He could explain that after what happened, Gil needs more control over his work now than ever, but she knows that. Instinct or not, the basics of it would have been taught to her in the police academy. A majority of cops are alphas, after all. 

Dani, however, doesn’t give slack if she doesn’t think it’s deserved. 

“Don’t jeopardize your job on my behalf,” Malcolm says instead. Of course he’s grateful. Having her presence here, knowing she accepts his choice and is willing to stand by him as pack, it’s all settling him in a way that not even his mother and sister could. They were his pack first. Dani was Gil’s. 

She frowns. 

“I could move out of the city and never work another day in my life,” he insists. “I don’t _need_ to be a consultant. I can find other outlets.” It’s with so much reluctance that he admits that, but it’s true. Hell, he could even continue to work in the same field. He didn’t burn all of the bridges he made during his time at the Bureau. He could work with another agency. Or teach. Something. He grimaces. 

The look she gives him makes it clear she knows just as well as he does that nothing else would be as satisfying. 

Malcolm sighs. “You, Gil, and JT are not the only competent cops I’ve made acquaintances with, okay? My mother also offered me a job.” A job he doesn’t really want, but it’s likely he’ll end up helping her anyway. Even if he’s able to get ahold of Gil and figure this out, he knows he won’t be working in the field in his last trimester or two. He’ll need something to occupy his time.

Dani nods. “Let me know if you go looking,” she says quietly. “It might be time for a change of scenery for me, too.”

He looks away, wincing but not refuting it, not understanding what it was like for her there anymore. The relatively short period of time he’s been working with Gil and the team taught him that both detectives stabilized the older alpha in ways Jackie’s presence used to. Losing two established members of his pack in such a short period of time… won’t be good. 

Not that Malcolm wants to leave. He wants to curl up in his nest with Gil. He wants to sleep with the scent of him in his nose, to feel the sprawl of his fingers across his growing bump, to see something soft in his expression again. 

He wants Gil’s mark on his neck. 

A soft poke to his forehead catches his attention. Dani’s solemn eyes meet his. “Hey. Back with me?”

Malcolm swallows. “Yeah.” 

“You want me to leave?” Although she doesn’t make a move, she’d listen if he asked.

“No.”

In the end, Dani stays for hours. They don’t talk much. They don’t need to. Malcolm needs his pack, and Dani needs the kind of comfortable companionship she hasn’t been able to get for the last few weeks amongst the tension in the precinct. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” she says, tapping his shoulder with a light fist. 

He gives her a weak smile. “You’re free to pick my locks anytime.”

She smirks then and leaves.

And he sits. And thinks. And pines. 

The baby inside of him is still tiny, still barely recognizable. They’re a blend of him and Gil and quite possibly the last thing he has left to remind him of the alpha. Will they look more like him? Or Gil? His mother said he was always a quiet baby, while Ainsley was loud and brash. There’s no telling what his child will be like. He has months ahead of him before he can hold them, and fuck if he wants to go through that waiting time alone. 

Without letting himself think about it, Malcolm stands up. He pulls on a pair of soft pants and socks, slipping on shoes and grabbing his coat. His phone is a useless weight in his pocket. Calling Gil won’t do anything, and he’s not in the mood to call a taxi. 

The air outside is brisk. The streets aren’t quiet, but then again, they never are in the city. Lights illuminate the sidewalks he walks down. Anyone he comes across ignores him, and Malcolm is good with that, because he doesn’t want to get waylaid. He doesn’t want to have the time and opportunity to rethink tonight’s impulse. He keeps his mind as distracted as possible. His feet move on autopilot, following the route to the familiar old townhouse he’s been to time after time. 

When he gets there, he’s relieved to see the lights are on upstairs. He stops there on the sidewalk, his hands warm in his pockets, and looks around for the rock he knows will be there. Despite being a cop, Gil is fairly predictable in other ways. The hiding spot for his spare key is no different. Oh, it’s well-hidden, but Malcolm’s been coming over for years now, and the offer of sanctuary was one the alpha offered less than a year after The Surgeon’s arrest. Bending down, he picks the rock up and brushes the excess dirt off. The panel on the back slides over with a firm nudge, revealing an old key.

Malcolm’s hand shakes as he fits it in the lock. It turns easy enough. He locks it again behind him out of habit. 

The house is quiet, unsurprisingly. Gil must be upstairs where the light is. He’ll smell Malcolm before he sees him, and that’s fine. Malcolm doesn’t need to hide his presence. He just needs to get in front of the alpha and get a chance to say _something_. His shoes find a familiar place next to Gil’s. The carpeted stairs are soft and worn beneath his feet, the scent around him — embedded in the very walls around him — is soothing, especially now. 

His hand cups the nonexistent swell of his unborn child. Being here is already comfortable, already easing the stress in his shoulders. 

There’s a quiet shuffle above him, on the second floor. 

Malcolm pushes on to find Gil waiting for him warily at the end of the hallway. He bites his lip and raises his chin. He can’t walk away now.

The alpha looks at him, pained but unable to tear his gaze away. Gil takes all of him in, gives him a worried once over, his eyes scanning for injuries. He winces when he catches sight of the dark bags under the omega’s eyes. “Why are you here?” Another wince. 

Malcolm returns the long look. Gil isn’t faring well either. The lines on his face are deeper, his clothes just slightly looser, and his entire frame screams of exhaustion. Malcolm can’t let this go on any longer — for either of their sakes. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just didn't want to come out initially, hence the longer wait than anticipated. I'm not 100% satisfied with it, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!


	4. Chapter 4

When Gil hears the quiet click of the lock turning, the soft catch of the door, he’s immediately on alert. He hasn’t had to deal with too many break-ins in his life, but he’s a cop through and through. The familiar feel of his firearm in his hand is a comforting weight.

Then the smell hits him. That, too, is familiar. Painfully so. The last time he smelled that scent, fresh and potent, was the day he scrubbed himself raw in the shower, not caring about the way his skin stung from the force. Then, and only then, the hint of his rut mixed with the divine smell of omega began to fade away. The urge to find the owner of that scent didn’t. Still hasn’t. Gil barely keeps himself from wandering down the stairs to meet Malcolm, to scent him again until they both smell like the other the way his hindbrain insists they should. His chest aches at the thought. Staying away from the loft for the last few weeks took every bit of effort he could muster up, and even then, there were several days he found himself driving past the building despite not needing to go anywhere near it. 

Near the omega. 

Gil scratches at the unshaven scruff around his goatee. He shouldn’t be surprised that Malcolm came to him instead. The kid never did care about himself enough. He squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers the heavenly sight of the omega walking towards him, slowly stripping down, jaw set with stubborn determination. Even without the drug coursing through his system, it would have been a captivating sight. And he remembers every single second of that rut. The noises Malcolm made, the hot clench of his body, the way bruises in the shape of hands bloomed across his skin… Gil’s all too aware he put Malcolm in the hospital. His rut, triggered and enhanced by whatever he was drugged with, made him desperate and near impossible to satisfy. 

Malcolm didn’t deserve that. He deserved a lot more. Something he could enjoy, that Gil would make sure was enjoyable for him if the omega ever wanted him after that experience. Certainly he’ll never want anything approaching a bond with Gil _now_. 

And yet, he’s here right now, smelling nothing like the anger and distrust he should reek of. Malcolm meets his eyes silently.

Gil examines him from a distance. He looks like he’s gotten even less sleep than usual. There are no remaining bruises — that the alpha can see, at least — but his appearance is less polished all in all, the clothes he wears loose and wrinkled rather than tailored. “Why are you here?” Then he winces. He never meant for it to sound accusing.

The look-over Malcolm gives him makes him feel flayed alive. “We need to talk.”

“This late in the day?” Gil knows he’s grasping at straws. Anything to postpone this. Part of him insists on taking this to the living room or his office so that the omega can sit instead of standing at the other end of the hall, tense and anxious. The rest of him knows he wouldn’t be able to keep the guilt from spilling over if he pulled this encounter out any longer than it’s gone on already. He can already feel the crushing weight of it seeping through his defenses. 

Malcolm stands up straighter. “ _Yes_ , Gil. We could have talked another time if you answered my texts.”

Each one was opened on his phone. Opened and read and unanswered, because Gil couldn’t bring himself to accept the concern the omega’s messages radiated, not after what Gil did to him. He knew the chance was small, but he’d hoped the distance would make Malcolm give up and heal. Move on.

“You didn’t hurt me,” the omega says emphatically. He takes a small, cautious step forward.

Fuck, Gil hates that Malcolm feels he has to act that way with him now. “Kid—”

“ _No._ ” Malcolm’s fists clench by his sides. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re _wrong_. You didn’t do anything.” He takes another step. “It was the drugs, Gil. You couldn’t fight it any more than any of the other victims could.”

“I should have,” he says despite knowing there was no way he _could_ have. 

Malcolm takes another step. His scent is stronger now, strong and fierce and stubbornly caring. “You _couldn’t_.” He brushes back a strand of his own loose hair with an agitated hand. “I chose to help. I knew what I was getting into, and I didn’t care. If I had to do it all over, I’d still make the same choice.”

But Gil won’t let him do it, if the situation ever comes up again. He feels hollow just thinking about the omega throwing himself into the fire a _second_ time. “You should leave,” he says abruptly. Desperately. He can’t do this right now. 

“Not until we talk.” Another step.

This time, Gil takes a step back to give himself space. He can feel the frustration building, tightening up the muscles in his shoulders, all of it trained solely at himself. His instincts demand he bridge the gap between them. Every second he spends denying it _aches_. “You need to leave, Malcolm.”

The omega growls. It’s light but there. And then he drops a bomb. “Gil, I’m pregnant.”

Gil can’t feel his legs. He can’t feel anything. This can’t be happening. Malcolm’s never been a particularly lucky person, but this is one hiccup too many. It’s not fair to the omega. Gil’s light and hollow and can’t breathe. No, no, _nonono_. “No.”

“Why would I lie?” Malcolm half-shouts. 

He wouldn’t. There’s no reason for him to. Gil still can’t believe him. He _refuses_ to. He shakes his head. “You’re not pregnant,” he says, as if vocalizing the wish could make it true. It can’t be real. There’s no humor in this. It’s bad enough he sent the omega to the hospital. He can’t have _bred_ him, too. 

Gil never wanted it to happen like this. 

With another growl, Malcolm lashes out at the wall, the impact seemingly draining his frustration and determination, paving the way for defeat. “When you get your head on straight, I’ll be at the loft.” His voice is painfully tired. He turns and takes the steps down.

The door closes softly behind him, the snick of the lock following close behind.

Gil stumbles to his office. His liquor cabinet hasn’t been disturbed in days, and for the longest time, he took some pride in how little he’d grown to rely on it, so many months after his detectives pulled him out of the bottle Jackie’s death drove him into. He grabs a bottle of scotch, not bothering with any of the glasses next to it. The booze burns his esophagus. It sours in his stomach. 

The bottle shatters on the ground, but he barely flinches. He never considered _pregnancy_. Well, during his rut, he thought about it quite a lot, and he still distinctly remembers the drive to breed Malcolm over and over again. His instincts were heightened. The urges he never put voice to were brought to the forefront. He needed to expand his pack with the omega he’d chosen. He needed to see _Malcolm_ fill out with his child. Afterwards… he assumed the hospital would have given the omega something. Or that maybe Jessica would have insisted. Surely _someone_ would have remembered to give an assault victim an emergency contraceptive. 

In another world, the knowledge that Malcolm’s carrying his child would be something to celebrate. Gil’s certainly dreamed of it before. He never seriously entertained those desires, of course, thinking they’d never come to fruition. There was no reason for a handsome young omega like Malcolm to want him, and that was before taking into consideration the way they’d met, the more platonic associations Malcolm likely tied him to. 

Now, in this world, Gil feels numb. He doesn’t care that drugs were involved or that he was dosed against his will. He assaulted one of the most important people in his life, and now Malcolm is carrying the undeniable proof of it. 

And then Gil _abandoned_ him. The alpha kneels on the wet carpet and carefully picks up the bigger shards of glass. One of them slices into his thumb. Deep red wells up in an instant, seeping into the loops and whorls. He barely feels it. He bandages it without thinking about much of anything at all.

He crawls into bed reeking of the alcohol he barely drank and sleeps fitfully.

It takes him two weeks to give in. Each day drags on worse than the last. The weight of the news pulls him down, and, as a result, he’s not on top of his game at work. He notices Dani give him particularly disgusted looks, but even then, she still covers for him, helps JT take over where Gil lets them down in favor of digging himself in deeper. 

She must know. Why else would her gaze harden again so suddenly? She hated him right after that case, naturally. Still, something started to soften a week or two back — just enough to be considered progress. Now, he swears he can also catch the slightest hint of familiar omega on her clothes during the day.

It might make a different alpha angry, but Gil’s glad his pack is picking up his slack. Malcolm deserves better than this. Although he’s sure Jessica and Ainsley are standing firm beside the omega, Malcolm has had precious little in the way of pack since the very day Gil knocked on his door. Dani has his back now. Even JT, who doesn’t seem to actually know about the upcoming member of their pack, quietly hands off bags of something to her most days. Probably food from Tally. Gil’s been on the other side of her care before, and he knows Malcolm’s in good hands.

Gil doesn’t say a word about it. He takes Dani’s glares, the silent distance between him and JT. The therapist he saw after Jackie’s death would undoubtedly point out how unhealthy it all is. Bottling up his emotions isn’t exactly new to Gil, after all. It took session after session to convince him to open up to his team about his grief years ago, and the alpha can see all of that progress degrade right in front of him with each day he chooses not to talk. He should get his head on straight. Talk to Malcolm. 

He doesn’t. Every night, he goes back to his empty house and stares at the remainder of his liquor cabinet. Most nights, he ends up tipping one down the sink. He _wants_ to drown himself in a bottle. It would be all too easy to sit in his recliner with a good bottle of whiskey, taking a swig every now and then until he can’t feel the shame anymore. The hangover would be brutal, but the relief…

He knows he can’t.

Not if he wants to actually be a part of his kid’s life. Of _Malcolm’s_. He can’t go down the same road he followed after Jackie passed.

He barely has the energy to shower anymore. Every cell in his body screams for him to go to Malcolm, to take care of him and rectify the entire situation. He wants to sink into the scent of his omega. He wants to be there when the undertone of baby develops. But he can’t. He can’t afford to fuck this up more than he already has, and Gil knows he’s fucked up plenty. 

Eventually, however, he can’t stop himself from driving by the loft. He parks the car. Exhausted and numb, he slowly pulls himself up the stairs. His spare key still fits in the lock. It isn’t surprising. 

The air here is heavy, stodgy. It absolutely reeks of misery. Yet the base scent is all Malcolm.

Gil bites down on the low whine in his throat. “Kid?”

There’s a shuffling by the bedroom. Malcolm walks towards him, wrapped in a robe that hangs off his shoulders. The bags under his eyes are deeper and darker. His hair shines with grease. Despite all of that, there’s a noticeable, healthy curve to his stomach indicative of the life he’s nurturing. He looks at the alpha expectantly.

“I came by to talk,” Gil says softly. Grovel, really. He didn’t actively plan to come here, but it’s all inevitable. It felt impossible to make up for what he did before when the only slight he knew of was his rut. Now he’s sure it is. The worst of it is that he’s confident the omega will forgive him. 

In contrast to his determination back at Gil’s house, Malcolm shakes his head. “Later.” He closes the space between them and lets his head fall forward onto Gil’s shoulder. 

The alpha can’t help but wrap his arms around the omega, steadying him. Steadying the both of them. The contact is a balm on his soul. This is what he should have done two weeks ago, this is what they’ve both needed for so long. His instincts calm down as he takes in Malcolm’s scent.

He’s not sure how long they stand there before the omega tugs him over to the couch. His brows draw together when the contact is lost.

But all Malcolm does is sit. He doesn’t leave or push Gil away. Instead, he looks up at him with tired eyes and pats the cushion next to him. “This will be more comfortable,” he explains. 

Gil toes his shoes off. His mouth feels so dry. “Can I…?” He gestures awkwardly across the entire couch, fully expecting a denial.

The omega rests his feet on the coffee table in front of him and nods. There’s something akin to eagerness in his eyes.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Gil’s part. Slowly, still waiting for a rejection, the alpha sits and shifts until he’s laying down on the expensive piece of furniture with his head in Malcolm’s lap. His eyes slip shut when a hesitant hand cards through his hair. “I’m sorry, kid,” he murmurs. 

Malcolm doesn’t stop the caress. “We can talk about it later.”

Gil is fully willing to play this by the omega’s wishes, but there’s one thing that can’t wait. He can’t let it be left unsaid for any longer. “I’m here.” He turns his head. His nose brushes against the small swell of their child. “For both of you.”

Six simple words is all it takes for Malcolm to relax noticeably. “Later,” he says, promises. 

His body has been running on guilt, fear, anxiety for so long now. With some of it eased by the relieved scent of the omega he loves, it just… shut down. Gil’s not sure when he fell asleep, but he wakes up feeling stiff from the couch, his face pressed up close to the soft curve of Malcolm’s stomach. “Sorry,” he murmurs sleepily. He stretches his legs and pushes himself up into a seated position. 

Malcolm’s head is slumped on his shoulder. His eyes are closed, his arms slack, his chest moving incrementally with every breath he takes. He can’t be comfortable in that position.

Gil guesses he hasn’t slept much at all in _any_ position lately. Biting his cheek, the alpha scrubs a hand across his face and yawns. It probably wouldn’t be a great idea for him to leave tonight, not with how tired he is and how his absence could be taken tomorrow morning. But he knows he won’t be able to bring himself to wake the omega up. 

At first, he just watches him. It’s soothing to be this close to Malcolm again, and his instincts are singing in the presence of his omega and child. Not that Malcolm is _his_ omega. Gil frowns and stands, trying to relax some of the stiffness in his limbs. Good thing the omega has always been a lean man. Leaning down, Gil carefully moves him until he can heft him up into his arms with a soft grunt. 

Malcolm shifts closer to him instinctually. 

“I’m here,” Gil says, not quite sure who he’s reassuring. He takes the omega over to the bedroom and gently places him in the messy remains of a nest. The loss of contact puts a disgruntled frown on Malcolm’s face, which Gil eases with a soft touch to his cheek. 

He should go back to the couch for the night. He’ll be close enough to prevent any new bouts of rejection from setting in but far enough away to respect the cracks between them. The very idea of it, however, makes his chest ache. Delaying the inevitable, Gil goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of tap water to give his hands something to do. The water is bland, warm. He sighs and leaves it on the kitchen island. The couch still has a touch of warmth from their bodies, and he lays down, hoping the residual hints of Malcolm will help him fall asleep even though his instincts are screaming for him to make the walk across the loft once again. He closes his eyes.

He waits.

He turns. 

He lets out a frustrated growl. 

When he gets back to the bed, Malcolm’s brow is furrowed again. Gil removes his jacket, tucking it into the top edge of the nest, and climbs in. Almost immediately, he has an armful of omega. Malcolm noses his way close to the alpha’s scent glands and clutches at his sweater, holding onto him like a lifeline in his sleep.

Gil wraps an arm around him and sinks into the nest. It’s the last thing he remembers doing before sleep takes him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this will only have another 1-2 chapters! I should be able to give a more definitive chapter count when I post the next one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The final chapter! I managed to fit the epilogue into this one, so it is officially the last piece of this fic :D
> 
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

When he wakes up again, he’s warm and weighted down. It takes him a moment to realize why, but once he does, he recognizes the scent in his nose, the soft puff of air against his neck. Malcolm is sprawled across him like he expects Gil to leave.

Which is… fair. Instinctual or not, the omega’s behavior in his sleep last night was more than enough to tell him he needs to tread carefully until he can prove he won’t be abandoning him again. His own instincts are singing now, though. It won’t be too difficult to stay by his side. Gil curls an arm around Malcolm and turns his head, burying his nose in greasy brown strands. 

“Alpha?” The word is muffled against his neck.

Gil shivers at the sensation. “You’re awake, kid?”

Malcolm hums. “For a few hours now.” He makes a small, disgruntled noise before pulling away from the alpha just enough to face him. His eyes are still exhausted, weary. One night won’t be enough to let his body bounce back. “We need to talk,” he says reluctantly. 

“We do.” Gil isn’t looking forward to it anymore than Malcolm is, but he’s just as aware that they can’t escape this. The only way for them to move forward is to feel out where they are, to set boundaries. He looks at the omega, though, his eyes creasing in concern with how _awful_ he looks. He knows he looks the same. “Shower first? We can talk over breakfast.”

Malcolm hesitates.

“Not together,” Gil scrambles to explain. Neither of them are quite ready for that. 

This time, Malcolm nods. He’s slow to pull himself out of the nest, out of the alpha’s embrace, and even slower to pull out a set of comfortable clothes, disappearing into the bathroom like it physically pains him to let Gil out of his sight. A moment later, the door opens again. He stands in the doorway, reluctant and unsure.

“Leave it open,” Gil says simply. He doesn’t particularly want Malcolm out of his sight either. Especially not now that he knows the omega is carrying his child, too. 

As soon as the shower starts up, he sits up on the edge of the bed. Truthfully, the baby in Malcolm’s belly has comparatively little to do with the urge to pull the omega back into bed and cover him with his scent. Of course it _matters_. The baby just isn’t why he’s here — not really. They sped up the timeline, yes, but Gil can’t lie to himself anymore. He was always going to end up at the loft again, a mess of an alpha, pining terribly for the man under the spray. He’s been a wreck since his drugged rut. His instincts screamed for him to go back to his omega and mark him the way he should have. 

Knowing there’s a baby only made the pain worse. Gil’s happy about it in a lot of ways, and yet he can’t help but wish they could have conceived a different way. A happier way. As it stands… he’s not sure he deserves any of this. 

The water shuts off. A few minutes later, Malcolm shuffles out, dressed and towel-drying his hair. He looks marginally better. “Shower’s free.”

Gil nods. He hesitates when he passes by the omega, but the understanding look he gets in return gives him the push he needs to continue moving. The shower is still damp. His instincts are delighted at the realization that he doesn’t have any of his own products here, that his smell will inevitably be tinged with the scent of his omega. He’s _not_ so excited to realize he doesn’t have any clothes, either. While Malcolm would easily fit into Gil’s clothes, the same cannot be said for the reverse. 

It could still be worse. Gil removes his clothes and sets them on the counter to be put back on shortly. He stares at himself in the mirror and grimaces at how unkempt he looks. He’s lucky his superiors never said anything about it. Thankfully, there’s an electric razor by the sink. Grabbing it, he takes a step forward. If he’s careful enough, he can get rid of the excess stubble without removing his goatee. It’s a therapeutic process. The hum of the razor against his skin is calming. The transformation in the mirror is even better. He’s starting to look like himself again. 

That done, he turns the water on and showers absentmindedly.

There’s a knock at the main door as he pulls on his clothes from the previous day. He tenses, his mind racing. Malcolm didn’t say he was expecting anyone. It could be Jessica or Ainsley, neither of which would be good. Not before they’ve gotten a chance to talk. Gil exits the bathroom cautiously.

Only to see Malcolm bringing a paper bag in, no one else in sight. The omega looks up at him as he sets it on the island. “I sent for breakfast.” He licks his cracked lips. “Egg sandwiches.”

Gil nods and sits on one of the stools, leaving a buffer in case Malcolm isn’t comfortable taking the seat directly next to him. 

The omega hesitates before accepting the unspoken offer. He hands over a foil-wrapped sandwich. He fiddles with the foil on his own, but he doesn’t make a serious effort to bypass it. “So.”

“So.”

Clearing his throat, Malcolm angles his body towards the alpha and abandons the sandwich. “I need to know what your intentions are, Gil.” He tucks a wet strand of hair behind his ear. “I can’t afford to get my hopes up anymore than they already are. I’m… I’m _exhausted_.” His jaw clicks shut. 

There’s no request for an apology. No indication that Gil will have to do anything before he’s accepted. Instead, just like he expected, he’s being forgiven as if he did nothing wrong in the first place. Malcolm’s fully willing to take him as is, without a care for his own well-being.

And yet Gil can’t let him do that. He knows he has faults, knows that he doesn’t always care to address them the way he should, knows that he more than _doubly_ fucked up this time around. Circumstances meant their relationship was never going to start on even ground, but that shouldn’t stop him from trying to patch the roughest spots. “Malcolm, _no_.”

Which, of course, sounds awful.

Gil winces and races to continue. “I plan on being here every step of the way, kid. I want to be a part of your life. Of our baby’s life. I just… you can’t forgive me like that.”

It brings a frustrated growl out of Malcolm. “I already _told_ you you didn’t hurt me,” he says tersely. “None of this was your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” Gil shouts. The fight leeches out of him then, and to his horror, he can feel hot tears welling up in his eyes, quickly blurring his vision, leaving stinging trails down his cheeks. “ _Fuck_ , Malcolm, I’m sorry.”

Warm arms wrap around him and pull him into a soft shirt-covered chest. “Gil—”

“I’m sorry I abandoned you,” the alpha says, clutching onto him. His voice is so weak, pained. “Both of you. I don’t understand how you can forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

It’s not true, but Gil doesn’t push the point. He’ll just have to remember it himself and do better. He leans in closer.

Malcolm eases onto the buffer stool so that he doesn’t have to let go. 

Once the tears begin to slow, his eyes burning as if he’d cried for hours rather than minutes, Gil pulls away just enough to straighten up. He hesitantly reaches out and cups Malcolm’s chin. It lightens his heart to feel the omega press into the touch. Slowly, making sure to give him plenty of time to say no, the alpha moves in for a kiss.

But Malcolm doesn’t say a word. He accepts the soft, closed-lip press. 

Gil stares at him, knowing he doesn’t deserve any of this. “Whatever you want, kid, it’s yours.” 

Hesitation is written all over the omega’s face.

“ _Anything_.”

“Bond me?” Malcolm says quietly, as if it’s a hardship.

Gil is all too ready. Carefully, he pushes the neck of Malcolm’s shirt away from his bonding gland. He leans forward and bites down. 

## Two Years Later

Gil nips at the scar on the juncture of his omega’s neck and shoulder. He revels in the way Malcolm shivers and groans at the light scrape of teeth. His bond mark has always been wildly sensitive, and his alpha never lets him forget it. He chuckles at the half-hearted protests he gets in return.

“Later,” Malcolm grumbles and forces himself out of their nest. 

Gil smirks. “But you already smell so good.” There’s a tinge of something spicy to his scent this morning, undoubtedly the very beginning stages of his heat coming on. In all of the time they’ve been together, the alpha hasn’t smelled anything like it. It was the pregnancy that held it at bay at first. Then, the suppressants Malcolm went back on, knowing that neither of them were ready for a heat, that they were both still healing from that first rut. The smell of it is _intoxicating_.

Sighing, Malcolm throws on a pair of loose clothes. His skin is itching with the need to nest and fuck, but first, they have to drop their daughter off at her grandmother’s. “If I let you pull me back into bed, my mother will have to come _here_ to get Aidan,” he says flatly. “Remember how she reacted when we told her I was going off suppressants and birth control?” 

It was a mess. Jessica had quite a few choice things to say to Gil, and she wasn’t afraid to say any of it. Even Ainsley had gotten into the fray, not to referee but to make sure the other alpha knew she wasn’t going to tolerate any stupid behavior this time around — all the while with her steak knife in a white-knuckled grip. Gil winces at the memory. “We’ll stop at your mother’s then,” he says and gets up. 

For all that Gil’s on thin ice with the Whitly women nowadays, the two of them love Aidan with a ferocity he thinks is only rivaled by Malcolm’s love for their daughter. Jessica was all too happy to take care of her during her son’s heat. They’d love any other children they have, too, despite their objections. 

Gil shares a quick kiss with Malcolm before heading to the kitchen and leaving him to Aidan. Their daughter is her daddy’s girl all the way. If she had it her way, Malcolm would be the one to wake her up every morning, though she does love hearing her alpha papa’s voice when she’s ready to go to sleep. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest. He just feels lucky that he has the two of them at all. He pulls a carton of eggs from the fridge to make a simple scrambled egg breakfast. 

“Smells good,” Malcolm says to Aidan, bouncing her lightly, “doesn’t it?” 

She giggles as he puts her into her highchair. “Eggs! Cheese!”

Gil quietly pulls out a block of cheddar and a grater. She’s definitely her daddy’s girl. He can feel the smile spread across his face. 

Beside him, Malcolm pulls out two plates but purposefully doesn’t get too close, not wanting to tempt either of them any more. When the cheese is melted, he takes them over to the island and begins to feed Aiden from his own. He’s patient with the little forkfuls. He smiles when she claps and chants _cheese, cheese, cheese_.

God, if Gil isn’t in love with this man.

Malcolm slams him against the wall, hands scrabbling at his alpha’s clothes. His heat is really starting to set in now. Or maybe he’s aware of how hesitant Gil is to be the aggressor here. 

Either way, Gil lets him throw his sweater clear across the room, lets him unzip his pants and rub his throbbing cock, already threatening to pop a knot. They’ve had sex in the last two years, but never like this. He only steers them to the bed once Malcolm pulls away to tug at his own clothes. 

The omega pulls off his shirt, shucks his pants, and gets into the nest, looking up at Gil expectantly. His hand curls around his dick, idly stroking. “I want your knot,” he insists. “ _Please_ , Alpha.”

Gil’s chest rumbles with the deep groan that invokes. Most of his hesitance is gone with those two simple sentences. The bed dips beneath him. Malcolm’s legs spread invitingly. He hoists them up with little effort. “I’m right here,” he says. Then, gripping himself with one hand, he sinks into where the omega is already slick and eager. His hand on Malcolm tightens, blunt nails digging into pale flesh. The urge to fuck into him, to chase his orgasm is so strong.

Malcolm crosses his ankles behind Gil’s back. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I want this, too. I _need_ this.”

That’s all he needs to hear. The alpha readjusts his grip, takes a deep breath, and pulls back. Snaps his hips. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yes, _fuck me._ ”

And Gil does. He doesn’t bother to hold back. He fucks Malcolm with all of the anticipation that’s been brewing since they first woke up that morning, when the spicy aroma that surrounds him now was much fainter. His knot starts to swell. It pops in and out with ease at first. He moves faster when it begins to catch. 

“Gil,” Malcolm moans, reaching out with one hand, the other clutching the sheets beneath him. 

The alpha lets go of one of his thighs in favor of intertwining their fingers. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he breathes out. His eyes slip shut as he thrusts one last time, knot snug in the omega’s hole. Not letting go of his hand, Gil reaches between them to push Malcolm over the edge, too.

Getting to see him squirm on his cock is more than enough to make up for the speediness of their first bout of heat sex. Malcolm’s muscles clamp down on the knot, milk it desperately. 

Gil practically falls into him from the sensations. He rolls them over until Malcolm is slumped over him and brushes the omega’s hair back out of his face. “I love you, kid.”

Malcolm looks at him softly. “Love you, too, Gil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... aaaaand he's totally knocked up again :3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how often I'll update, but I'm working on chapter 2 right now! I'm also working on a swap fic for the summer mpreg exchange as well as some other, shorter bits and pieces, so this isn't the only fic that's getting my attention. 
> 
> Big thanks to all of you who supported the first piece in this series!! <3
> 
> Title is taken from the Muse song _Undisclosed Desires_ , which was also the inspiration for the first fic


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